The Morning Sessions

Mitch, here.

Each morning I take Dorian out of bed at 7:00 sharp - for two reasons: 1) to have hi-energy fun with, create new songs with, create a new dry crotch for - and then supply a new diaper to, and often have a photo session with. . . him. 2) to give JoAnne another hour and fifteen more minutes of quality sleep. It's a win > win endeavor. (Here are the photographs from this particular day.)

Here's a sample morning from yesterday. I lift him up off of Mommy's chest on to mine (on the left side, with his head just about even with my shoulder - giving him two choices: shoulder pillow or no shoulder pillow). Then, it's straight to his room for a changing. I open the blinds to let the new day light spill in and place him on the changing table. He loves this, evidenced by the fact that he's grinning. The minute I detach one side of the diaper he flips on to his side to examine and scratch/touch the blue-painted wall. (He can touch it all he wants - it's non-toxic paint.)

Once he's changed we make our way into the living room at which time I place him on his colorful blanket on our fancy rug (our only non-IKEA household item - which is a good thing because all the IKEA stuff is getting wobbly). I place a few of his instruments by his side and he chooses his weapon of choice based on what I start playing on guitar. Yesterday it was two songs: 1) Deacon Blues by Steely Dan and 2) a new song I'm writing with Dorian. It goes like this:

"The sun comes up,

you chew on your sleeve,
you hop out of bed now don't call me Steve.

You rise everyday
with your foot in your mouth
Santa's up top
and Penguin's down South.

You can touch
the texture of the wall
of your blanket
of a flower in the fall

You can feel
the bark of a dog
of a tree
of a fireplace log"

He beats his drum and makes a breathing hissing sound with his tongue half out. At some point he gets a bit restless so I put him on my lap. Yesterday, while he was on my lap I played the guitar with him cradled in the triangle created by my chest, guitar neck and left arm. He was fascinated. Reaching out to touch the neck I decided to just flip the guitar over so he had access to the strings. AND HE WENT OFF!!! For the first time ever, Dorian played guitar! He reached for the strings and explored the gaps, texture (and taste of the wood). If only the so-called greatest guitarists in the world would do that! At one point he put his fingers gently around the 12th fret and I plucked, which created a really cool thumpy harmonic sound. For those who don't know what a harmonic is on the guitar just GOOGLE it. While some fathers might get nervous to have a child pluck and drool on his $1,700 hand-made guitar, I just figured, what the hell could he possibly do to fuck this instrument up? NOTHING is the answer. He could only enhance the character of the thing. (But good lord, keep my uncle Barry away from it!)

Then it's time to "show Dorian the day". I pick him up, we go outside and for 5 minutes I give him a tour of JoAnne's garden. I have him say good morning to all the flowers and plants. It's best to hold him horizontally, so that I can fly him over and through the forest. "Dorian, these are roses." He reaches out and I let him feel the rose with the back of his hand. (I've seen mites and other tiny bugs on all the plants outside and don't want anything to end up on his fingers - because that means it ends up in his mouth.) "Dorian, these are purple flowers" - he drools onto the bark chips. "Dorian, this is a Magnolia tree" - reaches for a leaf. "Dorian, this is a newspaper. Look Scooter Libby got 30 months and Paris Hilton got 23 days".

Back inside and to Mommy, who rolls over and can't believe that an hour and fifteen minutes have passed. She slept!!!! Nice. She's happy, Dorian's ready to be with her again, and I'm off to face the day with my bow and arrow to kill something and bring it home so my family can eat.

Mindful Tribe

On Sunday we took Dorian to a room full of babies, cute wriggly ones that he’s known since before he even knew he was a baby. (This picture is actually from our first reunion, three months back.)

It’s hard to remember a time when we didn’t know who Dorian was, but two short seasons ago, our smiling, kicking, gurgling boy was still just a mysterious creature swimming in my belly.

Now the world is sunny and full of flowers, but back then it was dark by five, cold and the gardens were all monotone. During those final months, we prepared for our new lives with a meditation course taught by Nancy Bardacke, zen practitioner and experienced midwife. Every Wednesday night for 3 hours we met with 8 other couples in her living room in Berkeley, blocks away from where Dorian would be born.

On couches and cushions we all sat in front of Nancy, a sprite of a woman with a shock of white hair and merry brown eyes who perched like an elf on her tiny stool in front of the fireplace. Constantly rearranging the shawl that dangled from her shoulders, Nancy had us sit in meditation.

Over and again, she taught us how to breathe. Not just your average inhale, exhale. But deep, mindful breathes that relaxed your body and revealed your mind. As our bellies grew and our futures neared, we all became friends, bonded by this most basic and transformative act.


We discovered that mindfulness is the only tool you need for everything, from the sacred to the irritating- from childbirth to traffic jams.

Since the babies all arrived, we’ve been meeting once a month. Now, though, the babies are finally beginning to catch on. When we first got together, the babies had no idea what was going on. We’d lay them on the couch or side by side, and they’d continue listening to their own songs, never tuning in to the bizarre sounds blaring from the other’s station.

Even here, where Dorian and Judah lie inches apart, both intently exercising, they did not once make eye contact or slow down their frantic movements, though surely they must have felt the draft from the other’s pummeling and kicking.



At Sunday’s meeting, however, enough time has passed that the little ones are beginning to notice each other. Mitch walked around, introducing Dorian to the other little guys (all but one are boys). They stared with gaping mouths. Then, like the little scientists all babies are, they slowly reached toward each other and pinched each others toeses.

When it's just the parents, we usually start with a brief sitting meditation and then spend the rest of the visit chatting about life and babies. Meeting with Nancy, however, the session was a little more formal, a bit more introspective. During the meditation, she asked us what was our biggest parenting challenge.

As we discussed responses, I realized my own trial had nothing to do with sleep or diapers, preschools or vitamins. For me, the most difficult challenge of parenting is accepting the fact of impermanence. Growth is so constant, never to be slowed or stilled.


I mean, it’s only been a few months since that last reunion picture, and look at how much we’ve all changed.